


Uncertain Death

by Endgames



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, Original Character(s), Original Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-05-29 21:31:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6394621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endgames/pseuds/Endgames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magic spreads amongst common folk. Mysterious monoliths appear by towns. Slavers grow bolder, operating openly. Death threatens along every road. Many try to ignore the growing blight outside their cities' walls. Others guard the borders, protecting them from the spreading darkness. But the unlucky few caught in the wilderness... they must take a different path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Allies of Inconvenience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not my story, or my world. Many thanks go to my group for bringing their characters to life, our DM for showing us the world, and my wife for her lexiconic and narrative assistance.

_The land, at peace, watched by those of the arcane,_  
_Hoarding magic, and thus, keeping the land sane,_  
_Till they disappeared from this world, never seen again,_  
_Though some say they left only to go to a higher plane._  
_A cataclysm broke the city that stood on the shore of night,_  
_A continent shattered, now borders a whirlpool of light,_  
_Wild magic spread everywhere, an unpredictable blight,_  
_A crafty man offered training, for this newfound appetite._  
_From commoners, a cult created, for they did as he bade,_  
_For royalty, immortality offered, and the kingdom they paid,_  
_But all were corrupted, twisted, their agreement he betrayed,_  
_An unnatural army he raised, and the land cowered, afraid._

OoOoOoOoO

_“Amin ume ile merna tyela amin coiasira e'i'taure. Amin nae poldore a’kela I'Taur'ohtear.”_

The murmured voice, still thick with emotion, filtered through Eustace’s groggy mind. Had they drugged him again?

_“Tyarn marta. Amin ume sai killien. I’n’at Taur’ohtear… ume il elea ta tuulo’amin men.”_

The word “killien” resonated in Eustace’s still-waking mind. “Killing”. An easy word to translate. His thoughts moved faster and his eyelids twitched. He subconsciously tried to get his bearings, as he focused his attention on his ears to locate the speaker. Was it the overseer?

_“Amin tanaka sina naa naik ten’amin’kshe.”_

_This is punishment for my sins._ Elvish. So this wasn’t the overseer, whom he’d heard speak only Common. A fellow captive then, by the sound of things. Eustace opened his eyes.

The sight of metal bars greeted his immediate view. He shifted his head slightly, and was rewarded by a change in the chill on his face. A metal floor then too. A sudden jolt in the rhythmic motion drew his attention, and he realized that he was on a cart of some kind, traveling at about a walking pace. After just days as a captive, Eustace had learned to stay unconscious whenever possible, and feign sleep at all other times. They usually didn’t bother torturing the unconscious ones.

Eustace sat up, deciding that it must be safe enough to do so, if others were awake and speaking. The cultist walking alongside the wagon glanced over at the movement, but didn’t interrupt his stride. The two elves on the other side of the cage eyed him, the long-haired one looking slightly hopeful, and the one with the tattoos looking distrustful. Eustace ignored them to nudge the other human next to him.

“Any idea where we’re going?” Eustace muttered.

“To our graves,” the boy said with a horrible grin. “Whether we get to stay there is another question.”

Eustace peered through the bars again, beyond the circle of guards with torches, and saw several shambling skeletons trailing the convoy. Pulling the wagon behind them was a giant abomination, a necromantic golem of some kind. It had four legs, or possibly two legs and two thick arms, along with several other arms sprouting from its misshapen torso. He locked his gaze with several of its eyes, and saw only mindless rage within.

With a shudder, Eustace turned his attention back to the cage’s other occupants. He seemed to be the last one to wake, though not the one in the worst shape. A dwarf was huddled in one corner, clasping his knees and shivering. A dark-haired woman sat nearby, her eyes dull. She looked like she was quite pretty under the dirt. Eustace pitied her for it.

The cultist was passing by the side of the wagon again. Eustace hesitated, and then called out, attracting his attention. “Sir, could you please tell me why we are here, and where we are going?”

“We are all here to serve the Necromancer, slave. We are all his property,” the cultist sneered, jabbing a finger at the skull branded into his forehead. Eustace’s hand went automatically to his wrist, covering an identical mark.

“Of course,” the cultist continued with a leer, “some of us will serve him differently than others. Make no mistake; your place will not be the same as mine.” The cultist glanced pointedly towards the skeletons shuffling on his other side.

Eustace’s stomach roiled still further at the thought. “Is there no way to choose to serve him voluntarily? In a way that would involve retaining flesh on my bones?”

The cultist considered him for a moment, and then declared, “We will see when we reach the Caer. The master can decide for himself.”

Eustace’s stomach turned to lead, and he heard a few gasps from behind him. They were going to the Caer, the castle, ruling city of the Heartlands… and the base of the Necromancer. It had originally been the location of Baron Kasnov and his court, amongst whom had been Eustace’s family. He had never been so happy that they had exiled him to the Cathedral in Candusberg as when he heard of the fall of Caer Kasnov. He still did not know of the fate of him family. Though he told himself he did not care, now he could not help but glance again towards the skeletons.

Leaving the captives to absorb his words, the cultist went to rejoin the other guards. Suppressing his nausea, Eustace turned back to the other prisoners. They had been shackled constantly while at the slaver’s camp, but now most had no bindings. The two dragonborn had clamps locked over their snouts to form a kind of muzzle. The female one was speaking quietly to the male in their own tongue. He almost barked a short response, though it was muffled by his muzzle. The female looked intently at the male for a moment, and then quickly slid away as far as she could manage. He turned his one-eyed gaze on Eustace, who could see madness roiling in its depths.

“We need to get out of here before we reach the Caer,” the elf with long hair said, in Common this time. “I may–“

 _“Perhaps we should speak of escape in a less-commonly understood tongue, in case of eavesdroppers,”_ Eustace cut her off, speaking Elvish. Yet again, he had to appreciate the usefulness of his family’s teachings, even though the language was just taught to help with their duties within the court. Both elves looked at him with a little surprise, and he noticed the boy turn his head slightly, to better catch his words.

 _“Very well,”_ the first elf continued quietly. _“I may be able to make the ground rough, and maybe catch a wagon wheel or something. If it appears broken accidentally, they will not blame us, and will be forced to let us out in order to transfer us to one of the other carts.”_

 _“I can help with that,”_ the boy said. _“I can pull up a vine or root to help break the wheel.”_

 _“Get me out and get me a blade, and these swine will not live another minute,”_ the tattooed elf said, hatred making the melodic language sound harsh.

“I wish to rage,” said the male dragonborn, in a strangely detached tone. All of them stared at him, having thought that he did not know Elvish. A second passed before Eustace realized that he still did not, and was just offering an unsolicited opinion.

 _“I have spells to fight with,”_ Eustace said, turning back to the others. An opportune moment to use them had yet to arise, but he had kept a constant lookout for chances to escape since being captured.

 _“I as well,_ ” the boy added succinctly.

 _“Then we shall have to hope the others follow our lead,”_ the first elf offered, glancing at the dragonborn again.

“Keep quiet in there!” a cultist growled suddenly, making Eustace jump. They slumped back into resting positions, waiting for their guard to move on.

Eustace, watching out through the bars, came to recognize a bend in the river with a copse of trees next to it. _“There is a bridge over the river up ahead. Even if we can get out now, we can’t just swim across the river. We will have to stay in the current to escape.”_

 _“No, we cross the bridge. I may be able to break it once we are across,”_ the long-haired elf countered. Eustace and the boy nodded. _“If we are to fight, and possibly die, I would have your names,”_ she said, solemnly. _“I am Larien.”_

“Jacqueline,” said the scarred elf next to her.

“Eustace.”

“Leif,” offered the boy.

Catching on, despite their previous conversation not able to be understood, the female dragonborn said, “Nala.”

Their eyes turned to the male. He snorted dismissively, but grunted out, “Brutus.”

“Selene,” said the dark-haired woman. The dwarf had not changed position, still shivering, and not looking at anyone. He remained silent.

As the cart drew closer to the bridge a fog started creeping in from the other bank. Leif smiled grimly. _“The fog will help hide us as we run. Which way do we go once we are over the bridge?”_

 _“West,”_ Eustace said. _“There’s a trail through the hills that leads back the way we came, keeping the river between us and the slavers’ camp. We can find shelter in Candusberg.”_ The others accepted his words, even as he wondered if going north towards Pentas might be safer. But he had to reach Candusberg, to reach his temple… to reach _home_ again.

As they approached the trees, Leif started scanning the ground ahead surreptitiously. _“There,”_ he said to Larien. _“When we pass by the large white tree. I can move the root sticking up, maybe into the wheel a bit. But…”_

 _“But what?”_ Jacqueline hissed.

 _“Something is not right,”_ Leif replied. _“Not right with the fog.”_

 _“There’s no wind,”_ Larien said, fear coloring her words.

Eustace took a moment to grasp the meaning, and then his eyes widened. The fog was crossing the river and was closing around the wagons at a fast rate, but there was no wind to drive the motion. It was unnatural, but there was no apparent danger. _“It doesn’t matter right now,”_ he said, with confidence he didn’t feel. _“We stick to the plan.”_

Larien nodded, and turned her body to hide her hands from outside the wagon. Eustace moved to block view of Leif with his body, as the boy began to make subtle motions as well. Their muttered words were low, but Eustace still watched the guards out of the corners of his eyes.

Jacqueline was watching the chosen patch of soil as they approached. _“I see no difference…”_

 _“It should be subtle,”_ Larien said, sweating as she maintained the spell.

 _“No, I can’t feel the land,”_ Leif moaned quietly. _“My magic is not connecting with it.”_

“Oh, _amada_ ,” Eustace breathed, starting up at the corners of the cage. Papers hanging there, that he had not thought much of previously, were now exhibiting a small glow, easily visible in the twilight. _“Stop the magic!”_ he hissed, hurriedly. _“Wards!”_

“You little bastards think you’re so clever, do you?” a voice called from near the golem pulling the prison-wagon. One of the cultists, one who seemed to be in charge, had stopped and was waiting for the cage to pass by him. His lips were pulled back in a sadistic grin, and Eustace flinched involuntarily. “You thought we’d let you magic your way ou–“

A purple beam of light cut him off, literally. It sliced through his neck and slammed into the middle of the golem. Both monsters collapsed to the ground, and the cart tilted precariously as the body of the golem pulled unevenly at the reigns.

Raising his head from where he had tumbled against the others, Eustace could see a wall of water rise out of the river, and crash down on the wagon in front of theirs, scattering guards and contents alike. Concern for any occupants of that wagon was thrust aside, as an explosion sounded from behind. The abomination that had been pulling the rear-most cart appeared to have been struck by a fireball, and was thoroughly aflame. With a flash of light, a figure suddenly appeared in front of the burning monstrosity. Four bolts of light arced out from her hand to hit the wards on the corners of the cage. A fifth bolt shot out to destroy the heavy lock on the door.

“Well?” the figure shouted. “Are you coming or what?”

Brutus was the first to snap out of his shock. He bull-rushed the door, shouldering it open, and pounded straight for the closest cultist on the ground. As the rest of the prisoners piled out, he hefted the man’s greataxe and brought it down into his torso with a sickening thud. Eustace averted his eyes, as Brutus began hacking relentlessly at the man. He saw Leif run ahead and grab a quarterstaff from the acolyte who had been downed by the purple spell. Leif laughed as he picked up the staff, and it grew in his hands, sprouting vines and stems along its length.

Eustace followed suit, and grabbed another staff, though this one did not come free when tugged. Eustace shrank back as the cultist holding the other end began to rise. Recognizing this guard as the one who had threatened him with skeletonization, Eustace thrust out his hand and called on the first spell in his mind. The sacred flames burst from his palm and consumed the cultist’s head in a stream of righteous fire. He involuntarily gasped, inhaling the odors of cooked flesh, even as he pulled the staff from limp fingers. Tasting bile at the back of his throat, Eustace shoved his actions from his mind, and turned back to their unexpected savior.

Flowing robes and a brass mask hid any details about their liberator, although Eustace guessed it was a woman based on the cut of cloth and stature. The mask had a single purple eye in the middle of it, and strips of cloth were wrapped around her arms. She was unwinding one of those strips now, and laying it on the ground in a rough circle. Eustace glanced around, seeing that everyone was arming themselves from their dead or soon-to-be-dead captors, and then paled. The caravan had been accompanied by an outer ring of skeletons, which he had somehow managed to forget in the confusion of the rescue. Worse still, several cultists were extracting themselves from the wreckage of the other carts and looking murderous. Eustace spun towards their rescuer, and hissed, “Where is the rest of your group? Where are your other fighters?”

The mask swiveled towards him sharply, and her tone was cutting when she said, “Just me. Go hit them with your stick while I set up the ritual to get us out of here.”

Eustace turned back to the oncoming enemy, fear causing his legs to quake. Brutus stilled his axe for the first time, looking a bit lost. Nala was prying at her muzzle, but was unable to pull it off. Surprisingly, it was the previously-catatonic dwarf who seemed to come to terms with the situation first. He slammed a stolen mace on a too-big shield and shouted, “DEFENSIVE CIRCLE!”

Feet obeying the command, Eustace found himself standing near the burning golem and next to the dwarf. He whispered a quick prayer to Kormir for protection, and then the dwarf shouted again. “ARCHERS…FIRE!”

A single twang sounded from behind him. It seemed like only one of their group had found a working bow. Belatedly, Eustace remembered his own magic, and raised his staff. He shouted a word, thrust his staff forward, and a ball of the sacred flame was again flying towards his enemies.

The staff was well-made, but not crafted for casting at all. It still allowed the spell to fly further than if cast by hand, but the fireball almost missed the group of three cultists. It only hit because one dove the wrong way as the flame swerved, and he took it right in the face. Eustace was able to cast once more, missing this time, before the enemy was upon him.

He swiped at the axe carried by the assailant on his right, the motion swinging his staff towards the head of the other. The second ducked, but the axe was knocked aside, and Eustace rushed forward to take advantage of the opening. He jabbed the butt of the staff into the axe-wielder’s stomach, but the other had lunged low with his sword, forcing Eustace to stumble backwards else he lose a leg. The sword flew forward again, and Eustace managed a lucky parry, falling down in the process. The sword was raised for an executioner’s blow, as the winded cultist threw a knife, aiming straight at Eustace’s face.

A hand appeared, grabbing the knife out of mid-air, and slitting the throat of the other cultist in the next motion. Blood sprayed over Eustace’s face, and Selene just smirked at him. “Get up. You’re wasting time,” she said, and managed to somehow shrink back into the night.

The man was wary, with the odds now reversed against him. He moved forward quickly while Eustace was still struggling to his feet, keeping another eye on where Selene had disappeared. Eustace cast a jet of flames from his hand as he rose, but the man jumped to the side of it. He lunged towards Eustace, swinging his axe down.

Eustace dove to the right, buying himself another second, but turned to see Selene’s dagger protruding from the cultist’s neck. The axe had flown out of his hands to bury itself in the burning mass of the golem, and the man’s eyes glazed over. Selene stepped forward, withdrawing her dagger, and smirking again at Eustace’s prone form.

Eustace glanced around. Their rough defensive circle seemed to have held. The dwarf had taken out a group of skeletons on his own, shattering their bones as much with shield as mace. The two dragonborn had laid down a swath of destruction, Brutus even managing to free his jaw and unleash a blast of fire. The elves and Leif had brought down another group of cultists, though it looked like they were sporting some injuries.

Seeing no further enemies coming from his side, Eustace’s heart finally started to calm down. He licked his lips, and immediately regretted it, as he tasted the cultist’s blood. Losing the battle with his stomach, Eustace vomited what little was in it.

A change in the flickering firelight made Eustace look up. The burning abomination from the rear wagon loomed over him, and he fell back in terror. It roared and lunged forward, but not at Eustace. Their masked rescuer just barely saw it coming in time to dive out of the way, but the ritual she had been setting up was completely destroyed. Brutus ran forward with a yell, and buried his axe right in the middle of its head. One of its many arms simply swatted him away, and it moved forward, unhindered. Faced with this enormous monstrosity, Eustace could only chant a prayer in Celestial, asking Kormir to guide his companions in the hopes that they might be able to do something.

Nala finally managed to tear off her muzzle, and let loose her breath into the midst of the abomination. Leif struck it at the same time with his shillelagh, and a kind of shockwave reverberated through its body. It roared and struck out again, knocking Leif back and landing a glancing blow on Selene, who had thrown several knives into its other side. It lunged again at the masked wizard, but Larien tackled her out of the way. Furiously, the masked wizard chanted loudly, sinking a white-hot fireball into its gut, which then exploded. Chunks of necrotic tissue flew everywhere, and if Eustace hadn’t already emptied his stomach, he might have been forced to do so again. The golem seemed to take forever to fall, but when it did, the ground shook with the impact.

Breathing heavily, the wizard said, “Keep watch for more enemies. I have another spell prepared, but it will take just as long to set up.” She began unraveling the cloth from her left arm to lay it out again, as the others reformed their defensive circle.

A strange cry sounded from far down the road, back the way the caravan has come. Eustace nervously peered into the darkness for the source, despite his night vision having been destroyed by that last fireball. Suddenly the cry sounded again, just in front of him, and three phantasmal riders burst into the circle of light. A fog-like darkness seemed to shroud their cloaked figures, and their steeds did not even seem to touch the ground. Two of them veered off, heading for the bridge, but the third flew past Eustace and the dwarf before he could even shout. Turning, he watched in horror as it swung a sword at the wizard and lopped off her arm at the shoulder.

She was thrown down, and the rider circled for another attack. The others were throwing weapons and shouting spells, but it moved too quickly to hit. It charged the wizard once more, sword hefted for a decapitating strike. She managed to raise her head as it approached, and let loose a scream laced with more power than Eustace had ever felt before. The scream blasted the ghostly horse into vapor, and flung its rider into the distance, form losing corporeality even as it flew. As the others rushed in to help, she collapsed, face-down in the dirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our DM borrowed heavily from various sources to create this world. The primary pantheon is from Guild Wars. Anything else you recognize is probably borrowed as well.  
>   
> Translations:  
>   
>  _“Amin ume ile merna tyela amin coiasira e'i'taure. Amin nae poldore a’kela I'Taur'ohtear.”_ – I did not want to end my time in the jungle. I was forced to leave the Rangers.  
>   
>  _“Tyarn marta. Amin ume sai killien. I’n’at Taur’ohtear… ume il elea ta tuulo’amin men.”_ – Something happened. I had to do much killing. The other Rangers… did not see it from my side.  
>   
>  _“Amin tanaka sina naa naik ten’amin’kshe.”_ – I am sure this is punishment for my sins.  
>   
>  _“Amada”_ – Foolishness  
>   
>  I rely primarily on the Tel’Quessir translator on LingoJam for my Elvish.


	2. The Call of Nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go to my wife for the much-improved chapter.

_Give thanks to Dwayna, who brought life to the land,_  
_Heals the sick and weak, or weeps beside, as they fade._  
_Her child, Grenth, works counter to his mother’s hand,_  
_Ferrying souls in death, their bodies fall in his shade._  
_Light a flame for Balthazar, when beginning a war,_  
_Bringing courage to those who fight the other races._  
_Rewarding looking past illusions, to see to one’s core,_  
_The goddesses of beauty, Lyssa, oft wears two faces._  
_Though Kormir may be blind, every truth, she still sees,_  
_Any true lovers of knowledge may yet feel her stare._  
_Lastly, Melandru, oldest and wisest of all the deities,_  
_Loving all of nature, she would grow peace everywhere._

OoOoOoOoO

Leif ran forward as the masked woman fell, his heart sinking fast. She couldn’t die now. She had promised to get them out of here. It was why they had stayed this whole time instead of just running, why they had killed so many of the guards… why they had _bled_ to defend her. He clutched at his ribs where the unnatural creature had struck him, even as Eustace and the dwarf both worked magic to keep the wizard from dying.

He quickly began searching the body of a cultist, trying to ignore the stench of death. Leif hoped to find a knife that he could secret about his person somewhere, or anything else that might prove to be useful. He found a few copper pieces on two of the cultists, but only empty sheaths remained on their hips. The others had followed suit, finding a bundle of arrows, a few apples, and a small pouch of gold pieces on the lead acolyte. The few pieces of armor present that had not been too badly damaged were pulled on as well. Selene had slung a cultist’s robe over her form, causing the others to eye her warily.

Eustace finished wrapping the wizard’s stump of an arm, and Brutus was asked to carry her. He snorted dismissively, but moved forward, and they managed to put the woman in a rough sling on his back.

“We need to go now,” Leif said, “before any come to investigate the burning caravan.” By this point, Leif was almost vibrating with the need to leave, to run… to get _away_ from these slavers. “I’ll not be captured again.” Not a slave, never again. Not after his childhood.

Spurred by the urgency in his voice, they quickly made tracks for the river crossing. Seeing that the bridge was made of old wood, Larien started examining the bridge closely. “Do you think it’s safe to cross?” she asked.

Eustace started to go have a look at the supports, but Leif could not allow for another delay. Carefully watching for holes and rotten planks, he ran across the bridge without incident. The rest followed him across, though Larien looked put out at his dismissal of her concerns.

Making a small flame appear in his hands, Leif said, “We should burn the bridge to delay any pursuit.”

“Agreed,” Eustace replied. He, Nala, and Leif all cast different flame spells at the old wood and it caught fire quickly. They turned and resumed their hurried pace up the road.

A short while later, the fire on the bridge had dulled to a small glow behind them. The sounds of the river faded into the background, and small insects could be heard in the fields around them. They continued hurriedly until they had reached a fork in the road. Eustace, who had been checking over Brutus’ passenger again, looked up.

“We’ll need to go left here to head west to Candusberg,” he directed.

“Are you sure?” Leif asked. “This looks more like a farmer’s trail than a true road.”

“Fairly certain,” Eustace responded. “It’s more of a trail than a road, and it winds through the Urstein Hills, but it’s the most direct way to Candusberg on this side of the river.”

The group turned onto the less-traveled path, and soon the wild fields around them gave way to early crops. The pace of the group slowed, and some anxiety from their captivity and the recent battle abated. Larien and Jacqueline resumed speaking in their native tongue, while Nala and the dwarf struck up a conversation as well.

“I still don’t believe we caught your name,” the female prompted.

“My apologies,” the dwarf responded in a low voice. “I have felt a bit indisposed of late, but am in better spirits now. I am Tror Facesmasher. I believe the others have called you Nala?”

“Yes. I came from the Norixius family, near Etheradoun. I was on my way to Pentas to continue my study of sorcery when I was captured in the forest. What about you?”

Leif heard Brutus growl under his breath at the mention of her family, but he subsided at a sharp look from Nala.

“That is interesting, milady. I hail from the craftsman’s halls between Etheradoun and Celebor. I felt a calling for more than mining, craftsmanship, or artistry. The undead do not yet threaten my home, but many others in this land suffer their attacks. I have been called to go and protect those who cannot protect themselves.” Tror’s voice rose, even as his eyes grew distant. “I have felt the guiding hand of Moradin in my travels. I was led to the sick and the helpless, and healed them when I could. I was led to the vulnerable, and defended their lives with mine. I had thought myself abandoned, forsaken by my gods when I was captured. They broke my shield. They took my _kestaz heus_ – my holy hammer. They…” Tror trailed off, clearly overcome by memories of the slavers camp.

Leif recalled the dwarf’s empty eyes and endless shaking in the wagon. Leif had known what to do as soon as he had been captured. He had known how to surrender, relinquishing all appearances of control. He had known how to beg and plead for mercy, playing up his captors’ feelings of power. Leif had known how to survive as a slave. Tror clearly had not. He must have fought. He must have fought them until they had broken him. Leif could not even imagine rallying such spirit so soon after that, and found his admiration growing for the dwarf. Nala appeared to share his sentiments, laying a supporting hand on Tror’s shoulder.

“But I see it now,” Tror said, shaking himself from his reverie. “Moradin had foretold even this, and there will be reason for me to be here. He has seen my paths, and has set my feet on the right one, though it shall be fraught with snares. I do not see the end, but I have no need to see. He guides my eyes and my feet and my hands. I doubted once, but I shall never doubt again!” Tror’s voice deepened as he began a chanting song. “ _De Toraktaalomareh an smiddag utz lyvauv! De Allaztaad kannag utz belgond! Utz ez gabil–“_

“Silence!” Selene half-hissed, half-growled. “Your oafish singing will alert any pursuers as to our location. I will not be captured a–“

Selene abruptly broke off when a rustling was heard from the fields to their right. Something was moving through the corn, bending the stalks around its bulk. The group bunched up into a protective half-circle in front of Brutus and his passenger, drawing weapons and readying spells as they moved. Leif found himself in the middle of the group, and pulled back his hand, holding a small flame. The final row of corn parted, and Leif found himself face-to-face with a cow.

“Mrrruuughh,” grunted the cow. For a moment, the rest of the group remained frozen from the sheer absurdity of the situation.

“Beef?” questioned Brutus. The rest of the group turned towards him incredulously. He snorted at their stares, and the cow snorted back. Nala began to giggle.

“Better not,” said Larien. “I think I can see the farmhouse up ahead. We should just keep going.”

Leif had other ideas. Holding out a hand to touch the animal’s nose, he incanted softly. The cow continued to stare at him placidly, mouth chewing continuously.

 _“Greetings,”_ Leif said, though it was a low grunt that emerged from his throat. The cow grunted back.

“Is he talking with the cow?” asked Eustace in a whisper.

“Of course,” Jacqueline said. “It’s not difficult for a druid. Ask her if the farm is safe.” Leif nodded, and relayed the question to the animal.

 _“Human home… nice. Hay home… bad,”_ the cow responded, words coming slowly around her cud.

 _“What bad? Why bad?”_ Leif queried, keeping his language simple.

  _“Smell… death. Death… bad.”_

 _“Herd travel towards last-light. Where safe?”_ Leif continued, pointing west.

After a long pause, the cow finally declared, _“Find no-eat moss. Find more. Find Her. She… safe.”_ It then proceeded to turn around and head back towards the field.

Leif blinked, and willed the spell to fade. “She said the barn smelled of _ruugh_ , but the _mrrrrroo_ should be okay.” He looked at their incredulous faces, and then listened again to his sentence in his head. “Sorry. The barn smells of death, but the farmhouse is alright. Not sure if it’s occupied though.”

“There are lights on,” Larien offered. “Or at least one.”

“I’d rather not go near any more death, and we don’t know if any farmer will be friendly to a group such as ours,” Eustace opined. Leif cast a critical eye over their group again, noting the blood-stained slaves’ clothes, weapons, and overall dangerous look they sported. Eustace probably had a point.

“Let’s circle around then,” Leif said. “ _Grrngh_ said that we should follow the _uuuaa_ – sorry – the poisonous moss. There is some place we should be safe there.” He was a bit confused by that last bit. The word had sounded a bit like a cow and a bit like a mother, but even more so. Still, it probably just meant where the rest of the herd was.

They began to move down the path again, towards the farmhouse. A few hundred yards away, they turned and entered the crops. The group tried to be quiet while circumventing the farm, and especially the barn, but some were unused to off-path travel. Tror and Eustace managed to keep their chain shirts quiet, but their footsteps were heavy on the dry corn stalks. The worst was Brutus, whose tail kept knocking into the crops, and dragging along them. Leif opened his mouth to hiss at him to keep quieter…

_“HRUUUGH!”_

Leif slapped a hand over his mouth as the others spun to stare at him again. “Sorry,” he whispered. They group remained frozen for a minute, but when no noises were heard from the buildings, they continued onward.

When the crops gave way to trees again, the group relaxed a bit. The two elves checked the trees for moss, as the ground grew more sloped. Eustace spoke in low tones about how these hills are the lands of the Cossacks, a minor noble family. They chose the life of semi-exile, guarding their lands with various outposts, but not really bothering any travelers. Their main quarrel was with the occasional bear, once they had driven the goblins out of the area.

“I found the moss!” Larien called, interrupting Eustace’s tale.

Leif hurried over to examine it, lighting a small flame in his hand to see by. The moss had a strange yellowish hue, and matched no moss he had ever seen before. He chose not to test the cow’s claim that it was poisonous, which is what he assumed to be meant by _“no eat”_.

His eyes followed the moss up the trunk a little, and then froze. There was a rune, mostly concealed behind the moss, yet somehow easily visible in front of it. Leif glanced at Larien, who was still looking at the moss’ odd color.

“Do you see that symbol?” Leif asked.

“Where?” Larien responded, looking over the tree quickly.

“Right there,” Leif said, pointing at the character, but taking care not to touch it.

Larien hesitated. “I see only moss.”

“I don’t see anything,” Eustace said, having come up behind them.

“It’s just the letter _ailm_ ,” said Jacqueline. “It’s pronounced like ‘A’.”

This time the stares were directed towards the elf, Leif among the staring parties.

“What?” she asked defensively. “It’s just a druidic rune. They never hide from one of us. You all could probably feel the engraving if you stick your fingers under the moss.”

“You’re a druid too?” Leif blurted out, feeling completely shocked. He had only ever met one other before, an old man who had been half-insane, though highly-knowledgeable.

“Of course! I was the best walker of the Abyssian Jungle. It may have been a while, but I still remember my craft.”

“And here I thought you just stabbed things with your pointy stick,” Selene added dismissively. “Can we move on, or do you now need to ponder the absence of a lover’s initials?”

Jacqueline shot her a dirty look, and brushed by her to continue to the next group of trees. Selene’s mockery was proved false when the next tree with moss sported another _ailm_ rune. The pattern continued for a while, the marked trees delineating a rough path.

“I’m not sure we should continue following these runes,” said Eustace worriedly. “All we have is a cow’s word that it’s safe. Whoever put these here is clearly trying to lead people in one direction, and I’d rather not find out what happens at the end.”

“The only people it would be trying to lead would be druids and others that are connected to nature,” defended Leif. “It seems like more of a hidden signal of safety.”

“But the tree-line is turning north. We should continue west towards Candusberg. We could make it there by early morning if we hurry.”

“I don’t think we _can_ hurry in our state,” Leif objected. His ribs were still aching with every step, and he could see large bloodstains on Brutus’ back and Larien’s arm. “We’ll need to rest at some point. I want to see if there may be a sanctuary of sorts, or even another druid’s camp.”

Leif recognized that some of his stated reasons were just rationalizations though. It was not something that he was able to explain, but following this path just _felt_ right. He could also tell that Jacqueline shared this instinct. It reminded him of when he was a very small child, before his parents had been taken by the slavers. He remembered a curious sensation of detachment when his mother led him by the hand, the trust he had in her allowing him to blindly follow her lead.

Fireflies began to appear, circling around the trees. He was also able to catch glimpses of other movement further away, like wisps of smoke that moved as they came close. The dancing lights and shifting mist leant an ethereal beauty to their path, leaving Leif fairly entranced.

Suddenly, a dense thicket of trees loomed out of the darkness. The moss-tree path pointed them towards the middle of it, though Larien began looking for a way around. Leif walked up to a juncture where two trees grew, branches entwined together in a delicate example of natural art. As he approached, he saw that the branches seemed to be arrayed purposefully, forming symbols. He could see _ailm_ , _ruis_ , _beith_ , _onn_ , _ruis_ , and _ailm_ again. Leif raised his hand to trace the runes and whispered.

“ _Arbora._ ”

The trees moved, like they were simply swaying with the wind, but the branches untwined. The runes disappeared as the twigs forming them shifted, and a path opened between the two trees with a groan of wood. A soft, otherworldly luminescence emanated from the clearing beyond.

Leif moved forward, as if in a daze. The others walked after him slowly, Eustace clearly preparing a flame spell before Jacqueline grabbed his hands. A large pool was the source of the light, giving off enough to softly illuminate the bower in the grove. A figure stood next to the pool, and Leif rubbed at his eyes to ensure he was seeing correctly.

It was a deer, but with a human torso rising from the body. Then it turned, and Leif could see that it was female. Clearly female. He could not help but stare for a moment, before blinking and changing his focus. He had only heard stories of them before, but she must be a dryad – a spirit of the forest.

The dryad’s torso dipped down towards the pool, and then rose, holding a wooden vessel of some kind. She cantered towards the group, and Leif could see the water in her hands glowing enough to illuminate her form. Leif’s mind grew more detached as she drew closer. He could feel the raw life energy coursing through the grove, but none more concentrated than within that water. He felt like he was only half in his body, looking at the half-deer centaur carrying a bowl, and half floating freely, watching the light of life flow around the clearing.

The experience was comparable to when he had first communed with his spirit animal as a child. The tiger had slashed apart the slavers and torn out Leif’s owner’s throat, before turning to face him. Despite the blood dripping from its fangs, Leif had felt no fear. Something or someone was whispering to him words of comfort and safety, and he knew that the tiger would not harm him. He could feel a similar whisper now, speaking directly to his heart. The goddess Melandru was present here, and no harm would come to him in this sacred grove.

Without words, Leif lifted the bowl from the dryad’s hands and brought it to his lips. The water was sweet and pure, like how he had always imagined nectar tasted to butterflies. He felt it pool in his stomach, and then energy poured through his body and limbs, until his very hair stood on end. The pain in his ribs ebbed quickly until it vanished. He could feel the mental fatigue and stress from the fight dwindle, and his fearful thoughts of captivity were driven to the back of his mind. A quiet sigh left Leif’s lips, as he handed the bowl back to Arbora.

Seeing Leif suffer no ill effects from the water, the others each drank their fill. Even Eustace’s eyes lost their suspicious glint, instead taking on a look of wonder as he finished the last drops.

The dryad paused when Brutus turned around, and Larien helped lay the wizard on the ground. “Thank you for the gift of the water, and for sheltering us in your sanctuary,” Larien said, bowing to Arbora. “Would you be willing to provide some of the healing water for our injured companion here?”

_“Me usieli miralmiemin mimo fe. Liverels var kutae feli pe bea, o Els var Fae fela marivuk bea. Miral marivuk fersea var kes.”_

The dryad’s melodic voice washed over Leif. Despite not understanding the words, he could hear the sadness and resignation in the tone.

“She said that the pattern – feeling? Something about death, anyway, is on the wizard here,” Eustace translated. “The water she gave us would only hurt her, and might even hurt this place if given.”

Leif only raised an eyebrow at the cleric’s knowledge of Sylvan, before turning back to the dryad. “Is there someone who could heal her? She saved our lives, and we are unwilling to allow her death if we can prevent it.”

_“Mab maer voa i umaer, kutae feli ver bea. Hihofela ferivar ge silun neal Dwayna marivuka bea ye salif var Grenth.”_

“The priests of Dwayna may be able to help,” Eustace summarized. “It seems the cathedral in Candusberg is still the best place to go.”

“Then we should be on our way,” Larien said. “She’s really not looking very good, even discounting the loss of her arm.”

_“Me sala mibs y pukliverel keltoot he mab. O… hihofela ma mirila ainluvese oo.”_

“She will ask the trees… through the forest? To carve something?” Eustace was clearly unpracticed in translating Sylvan. “I think she said we’ll get a guide.”

His words were proved accurate as the dryad called out, _“Sigmund, sylir,”_ and a small shape darted over to her. As it hovered briefly, Leif could make out a hummingbird chirping in her ear, before zooming towards them. The excitable bird circled them twice, and then flew towards the entrance of the grove.

“We offer our thanks for your hospitality,” Jacqueline said with a bow. “May the blessings of the divines be upon you.” She touched her fingers to her lips and brow, and then turned to leave.

 _“Melandru ainluvese mabel sila.”_ The dryad touched her own brow in response.

Leif just closed his eyes and tried to hold on to the feeling he had within this grove. As everyone else walked out, he savored the feeling of peace and warmth and… _holiness_ would be the only appropriate word. Then the moment passed, and he opened his eyes to meet Arbora’s kindly gaze. He too bowed, and hurried after his group.

When Leif caught up with the rest, he held up a hand with a finger extended. The hummingbird landed on it shortly, and began to chirp rapidly at him. He concentrated and chanted briefly, and then was able to chatter back.

 _“Sigmund, right?”_ Leif began. _“Who is Arbora?”_

 _“She is protector of forest! Wonderful guardian!”_ Sigmund was clearly enthusiastic on the subject. Larien immediately began to fawn over him and his “little squeaks”. He puffed out his chest at the attention, which the elf found “sooo cute”.

 _“How can she speak to you?”_ Leif asked out of curiosity.

_“She chirp to all creature. Walking, swimming, flying, she knows all.”_

_“You always in trees with her?”_ Leif had to wonder what the hummingbird did there all day.

 _“No. I am finder!”_ Sigmund replied. _“Fast, silent! I find all things and tell her.”_

Leif nodded slowly. Now that he thought about it, she could do worse than a hummingbird for a scout. _“Where go from here?”_

 _“Oh!”_ Sigmund looked around quickly for a second. _“Wait! Not this way, that way!”_ He took off again to show them the correct path.

The group of escaped slaves continued their trek for some time. They passed over two small streams, and picked a few under-ripe berries from bushes along the way. The forest was very dense, seemingly impassable, but somehow there was always an animal trail of sorts that revealed itself as they approached. Sigmund led them unerringly west, until at last the trees began to thin.

 _“I stop here now,”_ Sigmund said. _“Go up hills, past sticky trees. Go up human-tree and see human-nest. There help friend.”_

 _“Thank you, Sigmund, for showing us the way,_ ” Leif said. To the rest of the group, he translated, “We’ll be able to see Candusberg from the top of the hills, I think. Maybe we’d have to climb a tree, or he might have meant that there’s a building up there.”

“There probably is a building,” Eustace said. “The Cossacks had outposts all over these hills. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was one with a good view of the city. I think they’re mostly abandoned now though.”

The group continued into the hills, sticking to the rocky tops to make their footing surer in the dark. They passed by many lone pine trees, until they finally found a path of sorts. This one, at least, looked man-made, and had clearly seen heavy use in the past. They followed it towards higher elevation, until they finally spotted a sharp wooden structure, visible over a ridge.

They approached cautiously, keeping as quiet as is possible, though only a few members of the crew could see well in the dark. Fortunately, there was no light coming from the buildings, and no signs of life. There were two stable-like structures, the lookout tower, a shed, and something that looked like a chicken coop. No animals were present, and the shed and coop were locked from the outside.

Brutus leaned the wizard up against the coop, glad to have a break from the weight. Larien and Jacqueline went to have a look at the stables, while Leif and Eustace moved towards the tower. The steps were old, but did not break underfoot, and soon they were looking out into the distance. The river was visible to the south, and it was possible to trace its line west to Candusberg. The lights were dim at this distance and time of the night, but never before had Leif been so relieved at the sight of a city. The hills continued for approximately ten miles, though the path led generally downhill from the tower peak.

“I can’t see it from here,” Leif commented to Eustace. “What comes between the foothills and Candusberg?”

“The Killing Field,” Eustace said with distaste. “It’s about a five-mile stretch of blighted land. An undead army marched out of the forest in the foothills to lay siege to Candusberg. We had warning though, and the Spectral Guard had raised a large militia. They had turned the whole area into a giant trap, and it became a more permanent grave for the reanimated corpses. Too much necromancy-tainted blood was spilled there, though, so nothing is able to grow.”

Leif shivered at the thought of such unnaturalness poisoning the land itself. The two turned their attention back to the tower, and found that the door to the central part of the tower was locked. They could see enough through the cracks to tell that it only contained a few crates and oddments, and the wood looked pretty old. Eustace decided to try and expedite entrance by kicking the door down.

_BANG_

The door shuddered, but did not give, and Eustace rebounded off of it and hit the railing. The railing, fortunately, held as well, though it probably also caused a bruise or two on his back. Eustace fell to the floor and grabbed his foot, rolling about in pain and cursing in a particularly harsh-sounding language. Leif was torn between worrying about someone nearby hearing the sound, and laughing at Eustace’s misfortune wrought from his overconfidence.

Selene appeared at the top of the stairs, looking down at Eustace with a haughty expression. “And what, exactly, happened here?” she asked.

“There was a big nail sticking out of the ground,” Eustace said quickly, before Leif could speak. “Stabbed clean through my foot. Watch out for it.”

Selene glanced at the door, which had cracked slightly from the kick, and back down to Eustace before snorting in disbelief. She walked over to the door, heedless of hypothetical nails, and pulled out a very small knife. “This,” she said as she fiddled with the lock, “is why you don’t use the brute force method.”

The lock clicked, and she opened the door into the tower storage room. All three entered, and found that only a couple crates were still full. One seemed to have only old-looking clothing, which they each picked through to find something sturdier than their current rags. Eustace and Leif slipped the fairly old-fashioned garments on over their current clothing, but Selene just gave them an expectant look.

“What?” Eustace asked.

“Would you give a lady some privacy while she changes,” Selene responded, looking down her nose at the cleric.

“I would if I saw any _ladies_ about,” Eustace grumbled, but hefted the crate of clothing and walked out anyway. Leif grabbed a few coils of rope out of another crate and followed suit.

The others gathered around them at the base of the tower to garb themselves similarly, though Nala expressed horror at how old-fashioned the clothing was. By the time they were finished, Selene had descended from the tower with the last crate in her arms. Leif had to admit that she wore the fashion well, despite it being out of style. Eustace’s wandering eye seemed to agree.

Leif dug through the last crate, pulling out various animal snares and hunting implements. Larien took the snares with an expression of glee, but Leif was looking for a hunting knife or something like it. Again, he only found a couple of empty sheaths, and he squinted suspiciously at Selene.

“It seems like something’s been in the stables lately, but it could have just been an animal,” Jacqueline reported.

“Did you manage to open the shed?” Leif asked.

“No, it’s locked tight and the wood is still good,” Nala responded. “I don’t think we could break in–”

“I break!” Brutus protested, slamming the handle of his axe into the ground.

“–without making a lot of noise,” Nala continued, as if she had not been interrupted.

“Then clearly you have more sense than others,” Selene offered, with a glance at Eustace. His face grew red in response. She drifted over to the shed and fiddled with the lock, while the others crowded behind her. Her small dagger made scraping noises, and then this lock opened as well. Leif drew back the door, and they all stared inside.

A large chalk circle was drawn on the floorboards, and a stone altar sat in the middle. Strange symbols adorned the circumference of the ring, and a few herbs decorated the altar. A slight magical sensation permeated the air, although it could just have been Leif’s imagination.

 _“Aikanaro!”_ Eustace swore. “Necromancy. And something… else.”

At that moment, they all heard a voice coming from the path that led down the other side of the hill. “–have to reset the traps, and see what we get tomorrow. Damn deer.”

Most of the group drew back, looking around at each other for direction. Eustace, though, darted forward into the shed. He scuffed at the chalk circle with his foot, breaking the line in a few places and rubbing out some of the symbols. He was coming back out of the shed as a new voice spoke, “Don’t complain. At least we have fresh meat now.”

“Behind trees,” Leif hissed to the rest, pointing towards a few pines near the crest of the hill. “Ambush.”

“We’ll still have to give some of this to the brute,” the first voice responded. “And any other people we capture tomorrow.”

“Tror, guard the wizard,” Eustace quietly directed. “Everyone else, try to keep one alive.” Tror nodded, and went to move her out of sight of the path. The two elves darted to the front-most pair of trees that bracketed the path, and disappeared into their branches with impressive speed. Eustace and Leif took up position behind the next set of trees, and the two dragonborn stayed around the corner of the stables.

As Leif was passing, he heard Brutus ask hopefully, “Rage?” Nala just signaled for him to wait.

The waiting was interminable. Slowly the bickering voices approached, arguing about gambling food, and whether they should try it with the captives. When the group finally became visible, Leif realized that there were actually more than just the ones speaking. Four slavers, dressed in the Necromancer’s cult garb, crested the hill. The two at the back looked as though they might be elves, explaining why their footsteps were not heard before. The quartet walked past the trees hiding Larien and Jacqueline, drawing level with those that Leif and Eustace crouched behind.

Jacqueline leapt silently from her tree, throwing her weight behind her spear as she stabbed at one of the elves. Something must have given her away though, because her target jerked slightly to the right, causing the spear to slice down his shoulder and arm. Larien fired her bow from the tree, aiming for the elf closer to her, the arrow sinking into the back of his shoulder.

If their companions’ howls of pain hadn’t alerted the other two of the attack, Brutus’ scream of “RAAAAAAAGGGGEE!” would have. Brutus moved faster than Leif would have believed possible, charging into one enemy before Leif and Eustace could cover half the distance to their targets. He then swung his axe, cutting the other human open from shoulder to hip. Nala unleashed her breath upon the same enemy, and the flames turned his flesh to ash within seconds. Eustace swung his staff at the one on the ground, but missed as the cultist rolled out of the way. Leif ran past, casting flames at Larien’s opponent, and adding more burns to those caused by Nala’s attack.

The two elves immediately began to backtrack with surprising speed, given their current state. Selene was waiting for them on the downhill though, and threw a dagger as they approached. Her target dodged, and the other elf also managed to dodge her follow-up swipe. Running to the ridge of the hill, Leif then manipulated the vines and roots along the ground to rise up and try to entangle everyone below. Selene managed to dive away from the aggressive vegetation, but the fleeing slavers were not so lucky.

“Don’t kill him!” Eustace shouted. His request fell on deaf ears.

Jacqueline launched her spear at one of the cultists, impaling him at the same time as Larien’s arrow struck his throat. Nala cast a beam of ice magic at the remaining slaver, but struck the root wrapped around him instead. The cultist broke free from the suddenly-brittle plant, and sprinted away from his attackers. Eustace and Leif both launched flames at him, and Selene threw another dagger, but he was moving too fast to hit. Larien growled something unladylike, and sprinted after him into the trees.

Everyone else hesitated on whether to give chase as well, when they heard Tror call from the top of the hill. “Companions, come! You are needed here!”

Leif ran past Brutus, who was still hacking apart the slaver he had originally knocked down, and followed Tror towards the coop. The dwarf stopped and pointed at the wizard, who was having intermittent convulsions. Her eyes were open, but rolled back to show only the whites. Her arms and legs jerked wildly, even as Tror tried to restrain her injured side.

Leif noticed the shed that housed the ritual circle was shaking as well, and the shaking seemed to correspond with the onset of each of the wizard’s fits. Small spurts of magical light and smoke were emanating from the scuffs in the circle, causing the tremors. Eustace saw this as well, ran towards the shed, and then flooded the ritual circle with his sacred flames. The altar and wood floor blackened, and the shaking ceased. The wizard’s head rolled forward and her eyes focused directly on Eustace. Leif’s smile at her apparent recovery slid off his face when she spoke with another’s voice.

“Ah… there you are.”

The deep tones were at odds with the woman from whom they issued. Everyone unconsciously took a step back, readying weapons or spells just in case.

“It’s good to see you again, Eustace,” the voice said.

Eustace blanched, but remained where he was. His voice was deliberately glib as he responded, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

The voice chuckled darkly. “Oh, you have, and you will again. You see, my property never truly leaves me.”

Everyone paled this time. This was the _Necromancer_ , and he just possessed someone’s body to find _them_?

“I’ll be seeing you.” the wizard’s slumped back to the ground, her eyes shutting again. As one, they turned their stares to Eustace, who could only continue to blink at her comatose form.

They all jumped as a loud bang sounded from inside the shed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
>   
>  _“De Toraktaalomareh an smiddag utz lyvauv! De Allaztaad kannag utz belgond! Utz ez gabil–“_ – The Soulforger has created our lives! The Allfather watches our oaths! Our greatest warrior–  
>   
>  _“Me usieli miralmiemin mimo fe. Liverels var kutae feli pe bea, o Els var Fae fela marivuk bea. Miral marivuk fersea var kes.”_ – I cannot help this one. The taint of death is upon her, and the Waters of Life will only harm her. Even offering it risks the sanctity of this grove.  
>   
>  _“Mab maer voa i umaer, kutae feli ver bea. Hihofela ferivar ge silun neal Dwayna marivuka bea ye salif var Grenth.”_ – Allow it or not, death is upon her. Perhaps the practitioners who worship Dwayna can turn her from Grenth’s song.  
>   
>  _“Me sala mibs y pukliverel keltoot he mab. O… hihofela ma mirila ainluvese oo.”_ – I will ask the trees to open the path for you. And… maybe you shall have a guide as well.  
>   
>  _“Sigmund, sylir”_ – Sigmund, come  
>   
>  _“Melandru ainluvese mabel sila.”_ – Melandru guide your travels.  
>   
>  _“Aikanaro!”_ – Hellfire!  
>   
>  I mostly used the Dwarven language dictionary on StormNexus for Tror’s song. The Sylvan language reference on Elftown was very helpful for Arbora’s speech, though I had to get creative to fill in the gaps.


	3. A Running Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My usual thanks to my wife for the improved phrasing in this chapter.

_The court at Kasnov, losing children to an unknown plague,_  
_Turned their hearts from the gods, as more began to flag._  
_Pledged themselves to a rising mage, promised immortality,_  
_He transformed each and every one into an undead abnormality._  
_A new advisor at Duskshore drove the prince insane,_  
_The prince destroyed Hearthholm, every inhabitant was slain._  
_People called for his blood, but the prince escaped his trial,_  
_“Blatant corruption” was the cry, discontents began to rile._  
_A violent revolution arose, “No more nobles” the decree,_  
_Out of fear for their lives, to the forest, most nobles chose to flee._  
_The mage offered services, but they knew of events at Duskshore,_  
_Rather than risking undeath, they chose to commit a different horror._  
_A new curse they laid, upon themselves and all their kin,_  
_Never to rise, once they die, they committed a terrible sin._  
_The priests of Dwayna excommunicated all whom the curse defiled,_  
_The renamed Blightbark Forest the only home for those exiled._

OoOoOoOoO

Larien crashed into the undergrowth. Despite being injured, and only having entered the woods a furlong ahead of her, he was still putting on a fair turn of speed. Larien ran faster, confident that she would catch him shortly, and not wanting to leave her group alone for too long.

The elf abruptly tripped and fell over a log. Spewing leaves from her mouth, she jumped back to her feet. She could still hear movement in the forest, but in two different directions. One was probably a deer or something that they had disturbed, but which one?

The elf crouched a bit and angled her head. The moonlight’s reflection off of drops of blood was barely visible, but she was able discern her quarry’s trail. In pursuit of the westward noises, she darted forward again, taking greater care when leaping logs. The sound of the slaver’s footsteps changed, thumping on hard-packed dirt rather than through underbrush. Suddenly, she heard a surprised yip up ahead, followed by silence.

Larien stopped running immediately, uncertain of what lay ahead. Had he fallen and knocked himself out? Had he found another camp, and there was now an ambush being prepared? She moved forward cautiously, stepping softly and straining her ears. Fortunately, she reached the edge of a trail, and was able to see what had become of the slaver.

The man was dangling from his ankle, having been caught by a tree-rope snare. Larien immediately recalled that the cultists had been talking about setting traps when they had been walking up the hill. She scanned the area for other potential traps, but quickly realized it would be futile in such darkness.

The slaver was feverishly trying to cut himself loose, but his injuries seemed to be preventing him from reaching up high enough to do so. Larien approached him from behind, cautiously testing each step before moving forward. So intent was he on sawing the rope around his ankle that he still hadn’t noticed her presence when she reached him. She bunched up a fist and drove it into the base of his skull, knocking him out instantly.

Drawing her sword, she finished cutting the rope for him, kicking him sideways as he fell so he would not break his neck. Then, aggravated at all the work this bastard put her through, she grabbed him by the ankle and began dragging him back the way she came.

OoOoOoOoO

Larien finally crested the top of the hill, reflecting on how much more difficult it was to drag a body uphill than through the woods. As she approached, she could hear the rumblings of an argument going on behind the shed.

“The last time we met someone with the brand on their forehead, I pried this staff from his charred, dead fingers,” Eustace said, gesticulating wildly with the weapon.

“And anyone who hasn’t seen the camps probably thinks that any who carry the brand are the Necromancer’s servants,” Nala replied hotly. “Do you wish for them to make assumptions about you as well?”

“He was locked in a shed, under a trap door, with a heavy weight on top of it,” Leif calmly interjected. “He maintains that he does not know what happened, and I am inclined to believe him.”

Larien drew close enough to see the subject of the debate. A large orc, or maybe half-orc, was sitting on the shed floor. He was prodding gingerly at a fresh brand on his forehead and growling softly at Eustace. The stone altar had been knocked over, and a trap door was open where the altar had previously stood. The elf dropped her burden, drawing Eustace’s attention, and then spoke to an irate Jacqueline to find out what had happened during her absence.

“Must you bump his head on every rock?” Eustace grumbled, as he worked some magic to keep the slaver from dying on them immediately.

Nala took advantage of Eustace’s distraction to speak with the orc. “We are traveling to Candusberg to get healing for this woman here,” she said, gesturing towards the unconscious wizard. “Would you care to join us?”

The orc considered each member of the group for a moment, and then nodded. “Nov will join you. Maybe these _nubded-rega_ will not sneak up on Nov when Nov is with group.” He then shuffled over to the ashy remains of a slaver, and rooted around for weapons. Larien watched dubiously as the orc donned a chain shirt and hefted a sizeable trident.

Eustace finished stabilizing the one living slaver, and stood back up. “Is there any water around that I can splash in his face? I want him awake so I can ask him some questions.”

Nala walked over and kicked the slaver in the fork of his legs. The man’s eyes shot open, and he curled up in pain. “He’s awake,” she announced.

Larien rolled him onto his back with her foot, and then held her sword at his throat. “Are there any more of you slavers around?”

Nov walked up behind her and glared down at the silent cultist. A palpable aura of menace radiated from the orc as he growled, “Talk!”

“Ther-re-re wer-re-re only four of us!” he said, quaking with fear.

“Do you have magic?” Nov interjected.

“D-d-do we look like we have magic?” the slaver asked rhetorically.

“What was that circle in the shed?” Eustace questioned from the other direction.

“Just a w-w-way for us to c-c-contact our leaders.”

“Just communication? Not transportation or supplies?” Eustace queried.

“No! I mean yes! We had to call if we got enough sla–… people.” Eustace looked relieved at that answer.

“Why was he,” Nala jerked his thumb towards the orc, “under the floor?”

“The circle needs a p-power source. We needed a fresh cap–… person every week.”

“Where have you set the traps?” Larien asked, her mind on the tree-snare.

“Along the r-road. And s-s-some other paths. And in the woods. Everywhere.”

“Where on the road?” Larien growled. When the cultist just looked confused, she continued, “Along the middle, the sides, close to the hill, miles away? Where?”

“The-the-the road! I don’t know! They’re just around!”

“Where is it safe to walk? The middle, the sides?”

“Middle mostly, I guess…”

No one said anything for a moment, and the cultist seemed to collect himself. Then Larien broke the silence again. “What are the ghostly horsemen?”

“The Death Knights? You’ve met one and lived?” the cultist asked, surprised.

“It chopped off the arm of one of our group. Why won’t she wake?”

The cultist sneered. “The Knight’s blades carry a curse that none are fool enough to oppose. It poisons her unto undeath.”

“How can it be cured?” Eustace said forcefully.

“It can’t,” the cultist spat. With a cheerful grin, he continued, “Best take good care of her. You’ll be taken care of soon enough.”

Suddenly, a loud shriek sounded from far off to the west. They glanced anxiously westward, but the darkness stymied their vision. The cultist’s raspy laugh added to their apprehension.

“He… he… he. You’ll never get out of these woods alive.”

“What’s out there? What was that shriek?” Eustace asked, face pale in the moonlight.

The cultist’s laughter only increased, subsequently degenerating into a coughing fit. The group exchanged glances, their eyes hardening. Eustace caught Nov’s gaze, and gave him a nod. Larien turned away, resigned to the decision’s necessity and righteousness, but disgusted by it all the same. She walked back to the edge of the hill, trying to ignore the unmistakable sound of the orc’s trident impaling the body. The wheezing was replaced with a terrible gurgle, and then silence.

Nala helped sling the wizard onto Brutus’ back again. The group then trekked down the hill, picking their way over the mess of roots and vines carefully. They merged into a single file formation, sticking to the center of the path in the hopes of avoiding any traps. Larien stayed at the head of the column, peering into the darkness for any sign of enemies or treacherous footing. Another shriek sounded from the northern forest, but from a greater distance than before.

As the woods grew denser, and the path narrowed, a sense of unease brewed in Larien’s gut. She had never previously been claustrophobic, especially not in a forest, but the feeling of being trapped within the trees made her skin itch. Another shriek came from the south side, much closer this time. She could almost fancy hearing footsteps through the undergrowth, but it could simply have been the wind. Despite entering the pre-dawn hours that were usually punctuated by the songs of the early-rising birds, only insect could be heard.

Immediately behind Larien, Eustace was softly chanting a prayer. He reached out and touched her briefly on her back, and her eyes seemed to penetrate the darkness just slightly better. She had to keep reminding herself to scan the ground for traps, as her eyes continually searched the crooked outline of trees for out-of-place movement. It was almost a relief when her gaze upon an obscured figure in the middle of the path ahead.

Larien immediately directed their group to halt. She strained her eyes, noticing that the figure was somewhat indistinct, as though its outline were made of smoke. She had thought it to be crossing the road, but it remained unmoving in the middle of the path.

“There is something unknown before us,” Larien whispered, keeping her gaze on the figure. “It is in the middle of the path, and does not seem to be moving. I can see… I believe it has a very big, round head, and… it almost looks like one large eye in the middle?”

Even in the darkness, it was possible to see Eustace blanch. “A beholder?” he whispered, terror coloring his tone.

“Not possible,” Jacqueline whispered back. “They have not been seen aboveground for ages.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Eustace said. “If it were a beholder, we would already be dead.”

“Well that’s comforting,” Larien said sarcastically. “Let us go through the woods to get around it… whatever it may be.”

“We don’t know what’s in the woods though, and we’ll definitely make more noise walking there than on the path.” Larien had to concede Eustace’s point. He had already been making enough noise on the path by himself. He turned to Selene and said, “Can you sneak up and check it out? Maybe it’s not actually harmful?”

Selene looked very doubtful at his optimism, and challenged him back. “That is acceptable. Let us go then.”

Eustace looked ready to protest, though his pride wouldn’t allow it. He and Selene crept forward on the path, keeping low to the ground to avoid showing a clear silhouette. Larien, concerned about possible ambush, followed behind them at a short distance. Selene led the way, apparently better able to see in the dark than the cleric. They carefully closed distance with the figure, trying to better discern its shape. Other than being a giant, smoky eyeball, there did not seem to be much to it. Larien was reaching out to signal Eustace to stop, when the ground under Selene suddenly crumbled, and she started to fall into the pit trap.

Eustace reached out as she flailed, and managed to grab her hand. With a grunt of exertion, he arrested her fall, and stopped his own feet from sliding into the trap. Displaying strength of arm that Larien would not have expected of the cleric, Eustace lifted Selene out of the pit and set her feet next to his. Clearly just as shocked, she stared into his face.

“You touched me,” she said in a haughty whisper. “But… I thank you for saving me.”

“SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Eustace and Selene jerked back from the noise. The eyeball suddenly reared up on the other side of the pit trap, shrieking like an ornery fox. Larien took a running leap, over the other two’s heads, and drove her feet directly into the eyeball. It offered no more resistance than air, and burst into smoke as she flew through it. Having been expecting to land on the creature rather than the ground, Larien was forced to execute a painful roll to avoid breaking her leg.

Glancing back, she could see the eyeball reconstituting already. Worse still, there were answering shrieks from the nearby woods, and sounds of feet crashing through the undergrowth. “COME ON!” she yelled to the rest of the group.

Eustace pulled Selene around the trap, swiping at the smoky eye with his staff as they passed. It dispersed again, and the other six in their party caught up. “Run faster!” Leif called out.

Larien looked beyond the others. Several corpses emerged from the undergrowth, moving in pursuit at varying speeds. The fastest among them were already starting to catch up. Nala turned and unleashed a beam of ice magic at them, but her aim was wild from running. The ground under the pursuers became slippery though, delaying them for a moment as they fell.

The whole group continued to run single-file, more because of different running speeds than any thought of avoiding snares. As the fastest, Larien was in front, trusting in her ability to jump past any more pit traps that she may discover. More shrieks sounded from both sides, and even from ahead of the runners. These seemed to be the signal for more of the undead to crawl out of the woods and begin chasing them.

A huge tree loomed in the dark, lying directly across the path. Larien skidded to a stop and slammed her foot into the ground. The dirt and gravel directly in front of the tree flowed together to form a rough ramp to the top of it. Larien allowed the others to run up the ramp first, destroying it as she reached the top of the tree and jumped down. Without words or signals, Leif, Eustace, and Nala all swiveled and cast fire spells into the branches. A wall of flame now blocked the path for the undead, and gurgling screams could be heard from the far side. The fire spread along the trunk, igniting the drier brush on either side of the path as well.

Larien sped past the clearly-flagging Eustace and Tror, heading for the front of the group again. The ground under her feet shifted, and a bony hand shot out at her ankles. Larien managed to leap over it, and the group parted to avoid the shallow grave. Two more skeletons climbed out of the ground ahead of them, blocking the path. The orc, Nov, stabbed at one as he ran past, but missed. Larien ran up to the other, drawing her sword and slicing it in half in a single motion. Her follow-up kick shattered bones and broke it apart. Nala struck the first with a beam of ice magic, freezing its joints in place. Brutus, clearly not even paying attention to where he was going, ran directly through the skeleton, scattering its bones.

“I see the edge of the trees!” Larien called out, while catching up to Nov. “We’re almost out of the woods!”

Hordes of undead continued to emerge from the undergrowth, just too slow to bar their passage. A large mob had amassed behind the group, and was unfortunately gaining on them. The fastest corpses were almost within bow range, and Larien considered stopping to unleash a few shots. Ultimately, there were too many for it to matter, so she continued onward.

The group burst from the woods together, and looked back to see still more corpses moving onto the path. Leif, Eustace, and Nala cast more fire at the tree line, setting the forest ablaze. Brutus roared, and unleashed his fire breath back up the path, decimating the front ranks of the encroaching undead. Then all the living people turned and fled for the now clearly-visible city.

They had only managed to run a furlong when the sheer mass of the undead trampled the flames on the path and surged out of the forest behind them. Looking ahead in the predawn light, Larien despaired at the distance they still had to run. Worse still, the path seemed to disappear into a mess of lumpy dirt and mud, making footing more treacherous. It looked like an old battleground had been left to rot, with pieces of broken siege engines and rusted metal poking out of the mud in various places. No plants, not even graveweed, grew here.

Larien contemplated running ahead. The undead were still gaining on them, since the group was keeping to the pace set by their slower members. Larien could make it to the city before becoming exhausted, but probably not fast enough to signal anyone for help. She would be leaving these people for dead, and though she had only known them for this short time, she would not do that. So as the tireless horde drew ever closer, she fell back to the rear of the group and readied herself to fight.

The front-most of the running corpses was well within bow range when Larien looked up and spotted a light in a tower on the city walls. It would not have been worth noticing, but for it being brighter than most torches, and blinking on and off in an odd pattern. Next to her, Eustace gasped. He stumbled briefly, but never took his eyes off the light. Then he shouted.

“GET INTO THE DITCH!”

Surprisingly, no one hesitated to obey. The group threw themselves to the side of their chosen path, sliding down a short slope into a muddy trench. Light blossomed from the guard tower. Larien took a moment to realize it was a fireball, even bigger than the one that had hit the homunculus pulling the wagon behind theirs.

 _“Fia en’i’taure,”_ she muttered reverentially. Then, there was only light and sound. Fire exploded from the road above them, searing their faces with the heat and deafening them with the roar of the fire-driven winds.

When the flames vanished overhead, and the roar receded into the distance, Larien led the group back up the embankment. The fireball had exploded near the front of the pack of corpses, and then streamed back up the way they had come, cleansing it of the creatures. A few stragglers were still moving out of the trees, and a few more had been out of the path of the fire, but none were close. The group continued to the gates of the city at a brisk trot, and the archers on the walls were able to pick off any undead fool enough to follow.

When the group reached the still-closed gates, Larien exchanged a confused glance with Leif. “What do we do now,” she said. “Knock?”

“OY!” Eustace shouted up the wall. “Open up!”

“You shall wait there,” said a voice from above. One of the guardsmen, maybe a captain, leaned over the parapet to address them. “I will not be the one who allows the undead plague into the city.”

A few minutes passed while the group caught their breath. The remaining undead were making their way back across the Killing Field, and were almost to the woods. At the rear of the group, Selene said, “Well then… I shall take my leave of you.”

Everyone’s gazes swung around to stare at Selene in shock. “W-why?” Eustace stammered.

“It is time for me to go back to my home,” she responded unhelpfully.

“But why not come into the city for a spell. Rest, recover, and get supplies? We ran all night away from the undead, and still they stand, just over there!” Larien said, gesturing emphatically.

“I am not welcome here,” Selene said firmly. “I will skirt the city walls and continue west. The undead will not follow me that way.”

Eustace tried again, “Are you worried about housing? I’m sure my temple can provide–”

“I will _not_ enter this city,” Selene stated with cold finality.

“But who will open doors for us? My foot does not seem to be up to the task.”

 “No. Clearly that is the purpose of your hard head.” Selene’s eyes then softened. “Thank you for saving me,” she said to Eustace, and then swept her gaze over the rest of the group. “And thank you for your companionship on this journey. Should you ever pass by Blightbark Forest, I would be glad to see you again.”

Eustace’s eyes grew very wide at that declaration, but then he gave Selene an understanding look. “If you cannot stay… then I will wish you safe travels to your home.”

 _“Lotesse ilya lle lema nauva seera,”_ Larien said, with a bow to Selene. Others echoed the sentiments, and they watched Selene walk along the wall, until she disappeared around the next corner.

* * *

Table Talk:

DM: So you dash into the woods after the cultist. Make a dexterity check.

Larien: Four?

DM: You trip over a stick and faceplant in the mud.

Nala: You’re a martial artist… and a _wood elf_. How do you trip in the forest?

OoOoOoOoO

DM: You see what looks like a large floating eyeball in the middle of the path ahead.

Eustace: Let’s keep to the path. Maybe it’s friendly?

*everyone stares disbelievingly*

Eustace: Okay, it’s a long shot, but I don’t think the nine of us will really be able to stealth around it in the woods. Especially when only a few of us can see in the dark.

Larien: For the record, I am against this plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
>   
>  _“nubded-rega”_ – undead-lovers  
>   
>  _“Fia en’i’taure”_ – spirits of the trees  
>   
>  _“Lotesse ilya lle lema nauva seera”_ – May all your journeys be peaceful  
>   
>  I believe I will try to stick to the World of Warcraft version of Orcish, though its use will probably be uncommon.


End file.
